Mind Games
by SincerelySienna
Summary: Divorce is not common in the Wizarding world, so when Narcissa opts to sever all ties with Lucius after Voldemort's rebirth, their world is in an uproar. Fearing for Draco's safety and her own, Narcissa makes a desperate decision - she requests Dumbledore's help. With Draco and his mother under the protection of the Order, how will the new bonds created effect the war? DRARRY
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**** We fans continue to tear apart other authors' works. We maul the characters, maim the plot, and completely rework the story. Often, these new pieces are crap. Sometimes you find a jewel in there that is good, but not as good as the original. It is very, very, very, very, very, very rare that you actually find something that is worth reading just as much if not more than the original book. That said, I don't own Harry Potter, and my sincerest apologies go to J.K. Rowling for destroying her masterpiece. Oh, and I hope this is one of those jewels worth reading. :)**

**Author's Note:**** While this is not my first attempt at writing fanfiction, it is my first attempt at posting online and getting feedback. I won't ask for mercy - gimme your worst. I'm a big girl, I can deal with it. :) Just tell me the truth if you do choose to review.**

**Story Info:**

**Pairing:**** Drarry**

**POV:**** Third Person Omniscient**

**Set In:**** The Order of the Phoenix, during Christmas.**

**Rating:**** T, and for future reference, I am not likely to attempt anything rated M.**

**Bashing:**** Um...Voldie? I don't like bashing. Unless it's someone like...I dunno...Wormtail. Little rat deserves it. All characters will display negative and redeeming qualities. If you have issues with any of them...let me know. Or don't. Whatever.**

**Warnings:**** Clearly AU, Slash, probably some language, maybe some violence and/or mentions of child abuse later on, and probably some OOC-ness from both Harry and Draco. If you want an explanation for my choices regarding their characterizations, please see my profile. Again, nothing in this fic will be over a T rating.**

**Sorry if there are any mistakes, I don't yet have a Beta. :) **

**xxSincerelySienna**

* * *

**Prologue**

Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of a long dining table observing the members of the Order with an uncharacteristically disapproving crease of his forehead. Shouts and disembodied arguments bounced off the scarred wood of the table and clattered through the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Sirius Black and Severus Snape both sat in the center of it all, trading fierce jabs like the schoolboys that they had once been. Then, they were always overgrown children around each other, their incessant bickering putting everyone on edge and at odds.

Even as much as he disliked admitting that one was right and the other was wrong (feeling that siding with one meant encouraging their behavior), Sirius' point was one that Albus had to agree with.

"I will not allow you to degrade my godson any further than you already have!" Sirius bellowed finally, and the room dissolved into the silent tension of unresolved disagreements and furious sideways looks.

Severus stood to match the height Sirius had attained by jumping from his seat and glowering down at the other man.

Black robes swirling around him, the very image of malevolence, Snape replied in a low, disgusted tone, "The boy is a clone of his dear father; he has no respect for anyone and relishes in the allowances made because of his...title. The lack of discipline he receives elsewhere seems to have led him to believe that my punishments are unjust and undeserved. I refuse to condone to his -"

"Severus."

The Professor fell silent, and he tore his eyes from his nemesis for the moment, to look instead upon the old man surveying him, half amused, half disapproving.

"Albus," he acknowledged curtly from between clenched teeth.

"My dear boy, you have done the very thing I had hoped you wouldn't."

For a moment, something like pain flickered over the trained mask of Snape's face.

"I'm afraid I do not understand, Albus," he replied tightly.

"Severus, from the moment Harry Potter walked through the doors of Hogwarts castle, you saw only the surface image of his father and did not care to delve deeper. If, perhaps, you had ignored the superficial similarities to James Potter, you might have come to me with the conclusion that he was a carbon copy of Lily Evans instead."

Albus' eyes held a question - one that Severus despised, one that he did not wish to ponder.

_What would Lily say?_ the ice blue irises scolded. _How would Lily look at you if she knew how you have treated her beloved son? What would she say if she knew you had a part in making his life any worse than it had already been?_

"It...is neither the time nor place for this discussion," Severus hissed jerkily, lowering himself into his seat and the emotionless mask back into its place.

Albus was wrong, Snape told himself. He had not simply seen James Potter's look-alike and chosen to dismiss Harry. He had instead seen Lily Evans' eyes. The first thing he always saw when looking at the boy was Lily's beautiful emerald eyes on the face of James Potter, and he had for the first time in years truly felt the loss of his lovely Lily. The loss to Potter, and then the loss to Death.

James Potter's cruelty was only a secondary reason for his treatment of the boy.

"Of course," Albus said swiftly. "Now, the matter at hand -"

And everyone was off again, the kitchen erupting into incomprehensible chatter.

"_SILENCE_."

Albus Dumbledore had always had the ability to fully capture a room's attention with a single word.

"Very good. Now, when I requested Severus' services for teaching Harry Occlumency, I admit to it having been a last resort. You see, your strong dislike for the boy will be of no help when you are attempting to teach him to close his mind. He is, as you know, prone to temper and rather rash at times. You anger him, Severus. He angers you. I doubt you will be able to effectively teach him something that requires firm control over one's emotions when your old grudges have already prevented you from properly teaching him in Potions class." (Here Snape glowered at the old man ferociously.) "Now that an alternative has been presented, I suggest seizing the opportunity is best," Dumbledore finished with the nearest thing to a smirk at Severus that anyone had ever seen on the man's face.

The skeptical voice of Hestia Jones inquired, "How do we know we can trust her? Her husband, after all -"

"Her _ex_-husband is currently in Divorce Court with her. She means to sever all ties after the events of last June and his continued loyalty to Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore replied confidently, ignoring the invoulentary jerks of most of his Order at the name of their foe.

"But how are we to be _sure _-" It was Sirius this time.

"If nothing else, I do hope you trust that I am a competent enough a Potions Master to correctly brew Veritaserum? She agreed to be interrogated under its influence, Black. Every word she spoke to us was the truth," Severus intoned without even a glance in Sirius' direction.

There was a brief silence as this information was digested.

"What of the boy? Her son?"

"He was...conflicted to say the least. He had suffered some at the hand of his father, and was not set in his ways. He did not wish to follow the path his father had set for him, but he had, shall we say, a natural (though rather Slytherin) instinct of self-preservation that prevented him from rebelling. He is to be trusted to some extent though. His love for his mother is stronger than perhaps any other emotion of his, and I believe his mind is reworking itself to something more similar to our beliefs," Dumbledore explained, but with a finality that suggested that the vote to follow was a mere technicality; he would not turn down the mother and son's request for help.

"Is that all?" he asked lightly after a moment. Nobody spoke, so he said, "All in favor of Narcissa Malf - ah, I suppose she's a Black again by now," he broke off, glancing at the clock and nodding, "staying at Order Headquarters for protection with her son Draco, teaching Harry Potter the art of Occlumency, and becoming an member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

A disjointed chorus of tentative "Aye"s invaded the table.

"All opposed?"

Sirius was amongst the few reluctant "Nay"s.

There was a heavy pause.

"Well!" Dumbledore said with a small smile. "It appears you will be having a couple more guests this Christmas, Sirius."

Even with all their caution, none of the Order except for a young Auror called Tonks noticed the thin flesh-colored string zip back through the gap beneath the basement kitchen door.

**Author's Note:**** I look forward to your response to this story. The next chapter is underway, so hopefully you'll look forward to it. I'm trying to make this as original as possible; personally, I've gotten rather tired of most of the Drarry plotlines that seem to circle FF sites, redone over and over again by authors of various skill, innovation, and...well...grasp on the general rules of grammar and spelling. :-/ So, I hope this turns out okay!**

**xxSincerelySienna**


	2. Pride and Prejudice

**Disclaimer:**** See chapter one and rest assured that I claim no rights.**

**Author's Note:**** I hope you all enjoyed the prologue, but this is when the story really gets underway. I've done my best with the interactions between the characters, and I hope they're satisfactory. This will not be one of those stories where it's insta-love (in the words of my friend) for Harry and Draco. There will be a slow buildup, and they will be kind of stupid about the whole thing at first and the revelation will not come and smack them in the face in the form of an unexpected kiss or any of that mushy stuff. There'll be trouble, there'll be a meddling Ron and Hermione, there'll be a matchmaking Ginny and Tonks, and there'll be a disapproving Narcissa. So...LET THERE BE ANGST. And a few good old fashioned Harry vs. Draco Lets-Beat-Eachother-Up-Verbally-And-Then-Hex-Each-Other-To-Kingdom-Come scenes.**

**xxSincerelySienna**

* * *

**Chapter One: Pride and Prejudice**

Draco Malfoy was having a bad day, right smack in the middle of a bunch of other bad days. (It's called, A Week in the Life...)

The impeccable room he had just entered was decorated tastefully. Not a wrinkle marred the sheets on the bed, not a hint that a fifteen-year-old boy lived there disrupted the monotony of pompously expensive items that Draco both bragged about and positively detested.

"Only the best for you, son," his father had told him. "You are a Malfoy, and you will live like one."

Well, Draco was no longer a Malfoy, and he had no intent of living like one.

"Draco!" his mother called from his doorway. "Please don't stall, dear. We must leave right away."

"Of course, Mother," he replied stonily, and with a sad smile, Narcissa backed out of the room.

His personal belongings had already been packed, and were now stashed in a room Salazar-knows-where, at the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Draco could scarcely believe it.

On the one hand, here was an escape from his father's tyranny, his father's expectations, and his father's beliefs. On the other, he would go from living in the lap of luxury to residing in a guest room that probably hadn't been inhabited by humans for a good century or so, and in squashed in the same household as not only his mad cousin Sirius Black whom he had never met (yet of course his luck had run out and he was minutes from making his acquaintance), but Potter (the little prat), that Muggleborn terror Hermione Granger, and almost the entire family of ginger-haired, second-hand-robe-wearing, Muggle-loving Weasels - Weasleys. It could hardly get worse at this point. Draco had had the last vestiges of control over his own life ripped from his hands, and he felt as though he were in a freefall, with no clue when he'd reach the bottom or what he would find there.

He looked around. It was, undoubtedly, the last time he would see the place, as it belonged to his father's family.

_His father's family._ This afternoon, he had watched as his pride, his family name, and any assets that he would have inherited as Malfoy Heir had been taken away. His mother was tired, worn, sad, and had almost no money. She was now a divorced woman - a rarity in the Wizarding world - and her last hope had come in the form of Dumbledore's Order.

_Meddling old coot_, Draco mentally sneered. He firmly believed that everything the man did he did for a reason, and whether it was for his own good or the good of the Light side, Draco didn't know, but certainly wasn't often good for most of those his decisions affected.

With the resolution not to trust anything Dumbledore and his pawns did, and a resigned sort of sigh, Draco yanked off his signet ring and tossed it on his bed for his father to find.

He didn't trust the Order. He didn't trust Dumbledore. But he did know that his father was on the wrong side, and he did know that he would do nearly anything for his mother.

The signet ring glowed faintly with the knowledge that the youngest Malfoy and heir to his father had renounced his title.

* * *

"Malfoy! Can you believe it? _Malfoy_!" cried Ron Weasley for the fifth time that evening.

"We _know_, Ron," his sister admonished in the sort of long-suffering tone that was more befitting to Hermione Granger.

"But Gin, they're allowing the Malfoys access to Order Headquarters! Protection, even. They should've turned them down. They chose their side! Let 'em suffer the consequences!"

"Ronald, that's just the _point_," Hermione snapped. "Lucius Malfoy chose his side, but it seems that Draco and Narcissa chose theirs. If we don't help them, are we ultimately better than V-voldemort and his Death Eaters?"

"I think..." Ginny said slowly, "that Hermione is partially right. However, we don't know if they've really chosen a side. Coming to us for protection is one thing. Choosing to fight for our side and adopt our beliefs is another entirely," she concluded grimly.

"Ginny's right," Harry said quietly, speaking for the first time. He was unsure why he felt so odd about Draco and his mother staying in his godfather's home. He was certain that he absolutely detested the both of them. However, what he was feeling was more of a squirming reluctance than any sort of disgust or anger at their impending presence. He shook his head to clear it. "Who knows their true intentions? They are Slytherins, after all."

* * *

If there was one thing that Harry admired about Draco Malfoy, it was the uncanny ability that he seemed to have acquired at the beginning of the term to take almost anything with a haughty dignity and a sweep of his expensive robes that would've made Snape proud.

Harry himself had been described by numerous people as an open book. Perhaps he wasn't easily fazed, but he was certainly easy to read. He had carefully schooled himself to hide his emotions when he was younger, with the full knowledge that anything he felt was inconsequential and certainly not something his relatives wanted to deal with. Entering the Wizarding world, he was suddenly surrounded by people who cared about him, people who wanted to know how he was. He may not express himself well, he may keep to himself, but he was definitely not discreet with his feelings.

Perhaps it was a Slytherin thing, but nonetheless, Harry envied Draco for it.

Stepping out of the fireplace as if he hadn't broken stride since he'd stepped in the other one, the acidic green flames that surrounded him cast Draco's angular face in an eerie glow. His mother followed moments later, and they stood in the middle of the Black living room, Narcissa with her hand resting on Draco's shoulder, Draco stiff, his face utterly blank.

"Cissa," Sirius greeted bracingly.

"Sirius," was her quiet, almost regretful answer. "I am...glad to see you are recovering," she continued. It seemed more a peace offering than anything.

Sirius nodded. "And it's good to see you finally saw sense. He was never good enough for you, you know," he added with a slightly softened smile.

"I am aware of your views on the matter," Narcissa replied shortly. Sirius just nodded.

"Allow me to show you to your rooms," he offered more formally.

"Thank you Sirius," Narcissa said softly, suddenly looking quite defeated.

As the ex-prisoner led his cousin and second-cousin out of the room, Harry's eyes, following Draco, narrowed slightly. Something was off with his rival's interactions with himself and his friends. True, he hadn't spoken a word to any of them, but his snide remarks were not the only thing absent; his superiority seemed to have escaped him since Harry had last seen the boy.

"He's...different, isn't he?" Hermione whispered to the others.

"Yeah, I thought so too," Harry replied, jerking back to the present.

"It's understandable," Ginny reasoned. "He's lost _everything_."

Harry hadn't thought of that - not only had he lost his father and his home, but he'd lost any sort of political, social, and financial standing he might have had as the sole heir to his family. Everything that he'd once boasted about, everything that had his superior attitude had stemmed from...was gone.

"Perhaps he'll be less of a git now," Ron said darkly, and he strode from the room.

"What's crawled up his arse and died?" George asked fairly.

Hermione shrugged. "I reckon he's less thrilled than any of us to be staying under the same roof as Malf - Draco. He always seemed to be the most sensitive to Draco's criticism. You know - about your family and all."

"Dunno why this is a bad thing. It presents many pranking opportunities, and we can't even lose any House points for tormenting him!" Fred remarked cheerfully.

"Yeah, well, you would think like that," Harry laughed. "Have fun," he quipped.

"Boys!" Hermione scolded. "You really shouldn't - you won't be encouraging him to join our side by antagonizing him -"

"Oh, relax Granger," Fred teased lightly.

"Yeah, we won't _maim _him or anything," George added.

"It's all in good fun," Fred said with a slightly evil smile.

Ginny just rolled her eyes. "Just don't let it get out of hand, and I won't breathe a word of it to Mum," she said.

"Very well," Fred sighed dramatically. "I suppose we can't count on you for any help, then?"

"Oh, no. I've got my hands full with my own little...project," she said, meeting Tonks' eyes. The two of them giggled and cast Harry looks that made him wonder who was off worse – himself or Malfoy.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, that's all for this chapter. It's rather short, I know, but now that I've gotten the ground laid for my plot, I can **_**really**_** kick everything off. Reviews are nice. :D**


	3. Masks and Shields

**Disclaimer: See chapter one and rest assured that I claim no rights.**

**A/N: Hello there! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I know the prologue and the first chapter were both short and rather slow, and this one will be somewhat the same. Please understand that I'm setting the stage for this story, and next chapter will have some more action, and a bit more Drarry. I know you're waiting for it, but when it comes, I promise it'll be worth the wait. ;)**

**Another quick note - Narcissa Malfoy's character is giving me some trouble. I want her to be a bit pompous, but not prissy, and still holds some pureblood-supremacist views and tendencies. (Old habits die hard, after all.) However, I also want her to be very...motherly. A maternal figure in a way, but also a strict teacher. I hope I'm portraying her well, and if you have any suggestions regarding her character, I'd be happy to hear them. :) Now, enough of that and on with the story!**

* * *

**Masks and Shields**

"Sit."

Her voice was in no way welcoming despite her invitation.

Harry sat.

The alabaster woman surveyed him coolly through her mask of indifference, and Harry flinched at her scrutiny, attempting to straighten up as subtly as possible.

"Have you thumbscrews in your seat?" inquired Narcissa lightly, but clearly indicating sarcasm.

"No," Harry replied stiffly.

"Than I see no reason for you to be squirming such," Narcissa said aloofly.

Harry couldn't hold back an indignant retort. "Say it was thumbtacks?"

"Silence, child. You will not speak to me as such," she snapped, but there was an odd twinkle in her eyes, as though he had somehow pleased her.

"Sorry, Ma'am," he muttered, ducking his head.

"Look at me when you speak to me, Harry. It is only polite."

"Yes, Ms. Black."

The pause that followed was heavy, and Narcissa's next question startled him: "Why do you not wear your father's ring?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "S-sorry?"

"Your father's ring - your family's signet," she elaborated somewhat impatiently, as though she thought he was being stupid on purpose.

"I - wasn't aware I had one," Harry admitted somewhat reluctantly.

Narcissa raised a dainty eyebrow and pursed her lips delicately. "Do you have any idea what the sole heir of an important family such as the Potters failing to wear his signet ring implies?" she inquired after a moment. Her tone was distant, but there was an underlying note of indignation that Harry identified quickly.

"Er, no Ma'am. Sorry," he added hastily as Narcissa's annoyance became more prominent.

"If I am correct, my displeasure is not directed at you. This time," she finished with one of her rare, small, almost-smiles that reminded Harry uncannily of Professor McGonagall.

"What, exactly, is a...a signet ring?" Harry asked carefully after a moment of observing Narcissa, who seemed to be considering something with slight anger.

"A signet ring is the seal and symbol of your family line. The Potters are a very...ah..._prominent _family, and I admit to being rather surprised that your failure to procure your father's ring has not raised more ruckus."

"What does it mean? That I'm not wearing it?" Harry asked softly, her severity making him fear her answer.

"It means, in short, that..." the fair woman hesitated here, before sighing softly and continuing, "That you have rejected your duties as head of the family, and that you denounce your name."

Harry started, his eyes widening. "It - _what_!" he cried, thoroughly taken aback.

Narcissa inclined her head. "I have a theory as to who has been withholding your inheritance, and I do not like it. However, it would do me no good to confront him now...Potter, we will speak of this at the end of our session. I do not want it clouding your thoughts any more than it already is. You are to put it out of your mind for the time being. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry replied a little meekly.

"Very good. Now, if you are to come into your inheritance any time soon, you must know of Wizarding customs and political etiquette. I shall include that in later lessons of yours, once you have an adequate grasp on the theory of Mind Arts, at the very least."

Harry nodded.

"Well, then, I see no reason not to begin our first session!" Narcissa announced with a look that seemed to inquire as to Harry's thoughts on the matter; Harry simply nodded again, albeit a little hesitantly.

Narcissa sat in the couch across from Harry and tapped her finger under her own chin, indicating that he should raise his head and look her in the face.

"For now, you are to look me in the eye when we speak to each other. Your instructions later may be quite different. Do you have any knowledge of Muggle sayings?" she asked. Her change in subject might have been abrupt for anyone else, but the transition rolled smoothly off her tongue in a way that could only stem from the discipline and cunning of a Slytherin.

"My neighbor who cared for me when my relatives couldn't was rather fond of them," Harry offered.

"Then you may know the one that indicates that the eyes are windows to the soul?"

"Er, yes," Harry said, rather confused by this reference.

"Well, I suppose Muggles aren't entirely oblivious," Narcissa remarked, "because while that statement is flawed, it does still hold _some _truth."

"How so?" Harry inquired with some curiosity, but mostly because it was clear that he was expected to.

"You see, the eyes might not be windows to the soul, but they certainly are windows to the mind. Not specific thoughts," she added quickly, "but your emotions, and your memories, and anything that you wish a person to see, and...anything that you wish them _not _to see."

Harry shivered slightly, recalling all the times he'd felt as though he was being x-rayed by Dumbledore or Snape, and the sudden realization that they had been delving into his mind both shocked and angered him.

"Legilimency is the art of entering anothers mind, though it does not delve very deeply. Often only the first few layers the mind are those affected. I am going to teach you to use Occlumency to protect your mind from intrusion and outside influence.

Now, the first thing you must do is learn to construct shields around your mind. These shields will be temporary defenses - for anyone who is not a Master Occlumens will not be able to hold them for extended periods of time, and certainly not while another is attempting to access your mind. They - the shields - simply use up too much energy."

"Than how do they help at all?" asked a nonplussed Harry. "Why waste energy on something that won't hold?"

"Think, Harry. Lower those walls of Gryffindor density and think like a Slytherin for a moment," Narcissa said with a shrewd look at Harry, as though she was of the same opinion of the Sorting Hat about his placement.

Harry frowned. "They...only help temporarily...so...it bides you time?"

"Very good, Harry," Narcissa praised. "And with that extra time, what would you do to protect yourself from further penetration of the mind?"

"Erm...I...don't know," he admitted sheepishly.

Narcissa's mouth creased in slight disapproval, but she did not scold her pupil. Instead, she said, "You will layer your mind."

"Er, sorry?"

"You will be spending the next few weeks, once you have your mental shields constructed and ready to be put to use, learning to layer your thoughts and memories in a manner that will bury the most important ones, the ones that only you and those you explicitly choose should know of, and with the most trivial ones at the top - the ones that don't matter. With someone attempting to sift through the idlest of your thoughts, you will have time to eject them from your mind."

"Why aren't I learning to do that first?" Harry questioned, not with impotence but with genuine curiosity.

"I will not be teaching you that first simply because your initial attempts at it will make your mind painfully vulnerable. I fear it would be rather counterproductive. If you have shields ready for use, however, and you know how to implement them, you will have at least some sort of defense while you are adding more layers of protection. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Harry said truthfully.

"Very well. We shall begin."

* * *

"Occlumency sounds positively fascinating," Hermione commented one evening after dinner when herself, Harry, and the four youngest Weasleys were sitting in the living room, warmed by laughter and a roaring fire.

"I s'pose," Harry replied faintly, scrunching up his face and glowering at the chessboard between himself and Ron.

"Just give it up already, mate," Fred said from his spot on the hearthrug with George where the twins were tormenting Crookshanks.

"Yeah, you know you're gonna lose," George added, tugging at Crookshanks' tail while Fred tweaked his ears. Hermione's cat _merow_ed angrily and leapt onto the couch for his owner's protection.

"Oh, hush, and stop torturing my cat," Hermione snapped.

Ginny rolled her eyes as Ron cried, "Checkmate!" for the third time that hour.

"You must admit, Hermione, these games are getting shorter and shorter," snickered the redheaded girl. Hermione just shrugged at her friend.

"But how _are _your lessons?" Hermione pressed as Ron set up the chessboard, ignoring Harry's weak protests.

"They're...fine. Better than I thought they would be, that's for sure. Narcissa Black isn't all bad," Harry added with some reluctance.

Ron scoffed. "She's a _Malfoy_," he said with distaste.

"Not anymore," Ginny reasoned blithely. "There must be a reason behind that decision. Why must you be so _stubborn_?"

"Oh, you're one to talk! You didn't stop the twins turning all Malfoy's clothes to Chudley Cannons memorabilia the other day," he retorted with a smirk.

"Well, that's different. That's Draco Malfoy, the kid who's been a right git to all of us from the moment he set eyes on us."

"Wasn't to me," Harry said quietly. Everyone turned to him.  
"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione asked gently.

"He offered me his friendship. I just can't help wondering how things would be different if I had accepted it. Sure he's a prat, but I wonder if he might've...turned out okay."

"He'd still be a Slytherin," Ron grunted with a dismissive wave of the hand, but everyone else watched Harry carefully for the rest of the night. Especially Ginny.

* * *

"Oopsy!"

"Tonks!" cried Ginny over the screeches of Lady Black.

"Sorry, oh, I'm so sorry Molly!" Tonks gasped as she tugged the hideous Troll leg umbrella stand back into place.

"Oh, honestly Tonks," smiled Molly.

"Dunno why we still have that wretched thing anyway," Ginny remarked fairly, hugging Tonks. "We have lots to talk about, and loads of planning to do. Those two gits still haven't wised up."

Tonks laughed. "I didn't think they would," she said ruefully.

Molly spared the two a vaguely suspicious glance, but when Tonks shot her a disarming smile, she returned it with one of her own.

"The drawing room is empty, I believe," Molly said offhandedly, and Ginny gave her mother a Cheshire grin. "I do hope whatever you're plotting is worth the wrath you will incur if it goes wrong."

"Yes Mum, thanks!" Ginny called over her shoulder as she tugged a stumbling Tonks down the hall and into the drawing room.

Shaking her head, Molly began a tedious tug-of-war with Mrs. Black's curtains.

"So what've you got?" Tonks asked Ginny as they entered the rather drab drawing room. Its previous splendor was clear, plush emerald sofas and mahogany cabinets with silver handles rusted to a dull near-black and moth-eaten white-and-green window dressings. The couches were velvet and the Slytherin-green carpet was so deep you were buried up to your ankles with each step you took.

Ginny sat down at an old grand piano that she'd tuned and more-or-less taken over during their stay. Nobody else seemed to mind - it wasn't like they knew how to play. She had discovered that Harry had a lovely voice, and they'd taken to holing up in the room on rainy days and doing duets for fun.

Tinkering a Muggle tune, her fingers trailing over cracked keys, Ginny said, "Harry's gay."

Tonks' eyes widened. "You were right!" she gasped. "I thought maybe, but...how do you know for sure?"

"He told me," she said simply. "Well, sort of," she added with a slight frown. "We were in here the other evening and..."

* * *

_Ginny stole a sideways glance at the boy who had quickly become her new best friend, what with Ron and Hermione's incessant flirting. (They called it bickering, but Ginny knew better!) _

_Harry was scowling slightly at the keys under his fingers. Ginny had taught him a few songs, and she was pleased to note that he was quick to pick up on the nuances of a tune._

_"Harry?" she prompted gently. "What's bothering you?"_

_Harry sighed. "Gin, you've gotta promise not to tell anyone," he began with an uncertain little hitch in his voice. "It's really important."_

_"Gryffindor Honor," she said, mockingly crossing her heart. It did the trick - Harry grinned slightly._

_"But really - I don't want anyone to know."_

_"Okay," she assured him. "I'll keep it private," she said carefully.  
_

_"Well, you know Cho Chang?"_

_"Of course," Ginny said with a raise of her eyebrow, flicking her fiery bangs out of her dancing honey-brown eyes._

_"She kissed me after the last D.A. meeting," he admitted, almost sounding ashamed._

_"Well...that's great!" Ginny enthused. "Er...isn't it?" _

_She held her breath. Was her theory about to be confirmed? This easily?_

_"I dunno," he sighed, swinging his long legs over the bench to turn away from the piano and propping his elbows on his knees. "I don't know. It didn't...feel right. I felt...Ginny, I felt dirty," he said, wrinkling his nose and looking away in shame._

_Mentally doing a victory dance, Ginny smiled gently._

_"Harry, do you love her?"_

_"Well...she's awful pretty, I guess," he stammered a little uncertainly._

_"Hmm...Harry, I have a question. And you have to promise not to get upset before you think about it a little more. Okay?"_

_Harry nodded jerkily._

_"Harry, do you ever think about...boys in that way? In the way that Ron thinks about Hermione, or...or...you used to think about Cho?"_

_Harry balked immediately. _

_"What?" he hissed, paling? "I - I don't - I'm not -"_

_"Harry, you promised," Ginny reminded him softly._

_Slowly, Harry stood and turned to face her, his eyes holding an unspoken fear._

_"Yes," he whispered._

_Ginny nodded triumphantly. "You're gay," she stated._

_"I'm gay," he confirmed with a grimace. "Are you upset?" he asked in a very small, very childlike voice._

_"I - no, of course not Harry!" Ginny said adamantly. "Why in Merlin's name would I be upset?"_

_"I don't know..." he muttered, turning away._

_Ginny stood and slowly, as though she didn't want to spook him, circled his waist with her arms._

_"Oh, Harry," she laughed quietly. "Oh, Harry..."_

_Soon, his arms were wrapped around her and he was holding on as if he never wanted to let her go. _

_Soon, though, she pulled away and placed a tender kiss on his cheek._

_"Hey, Gin?" Harry said hesitantly._

_"Hmm?"_

_"I know you have six brothers already, but do you think you could make room for one more?"_

_Ginny giggled and ruffled his hair affectionately. "I think I can manage with one more," she said with fake reluctance. Her newly-christened brother grinned._

_Harry flopped back onto the sofa behind them and draped his lanky frame over one of the arms. Ginny sat back at the piano bench and joined the symphony of the raindrops on the roof._

* * *

With a sigh, Ginny pulled herself back to the present, where Tonks was waiting impatiently for an explanation.

"Well, the conversation was kind of private, and technically he didn't want me to tell anyone at all, but since you sort of already knew, I don't think this counts," Ginny said with a coy smirk.

Tonks grinned. "You should've been a Slytherin," she snorted.

"Oi!" cried Ginny. "I take offense to that. But...honestly, sometimes I think so myself. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I desperately wanted to be anything but," she confided with some reluctance.

Tonks smiled and shrugged. "Well, I'd quote whatever Dumbledore is always saying about choices and abilities, but I really don't remember it. Half of what he says is rubbish and half is deep wisdom, and sometimes the rubbish seems like the wisdom and the wisdom seems like the rubbish," she said with a cute scowl.

Ginny laughed. "That was uncharacteristically deep, Tonks...I think Moony is rubbing off on you!" And then she couldn't say anymore, because she found herself being pinned to the carpet and tickled mercilessly as Tonks proclaimed once again that she had no feelings what-so-ever for the scholarly werewolf.


	4. All My Secrets

**Disclaimer:**** See chapter one... (Oh, and the song quoted in this chapter is one of my personal favorites - "Secrets" by OneRepublic. Which I don't own. :D)**

**Author's Note:**** Hey! Anyone out there...? No...? Okay. To my non-existent rabid fans: Thanks for reading! Why do I get the feeling that I'm talking to myself? **

**Yeah, um, I just wanted to thank the people who've reviewed so far. Your words were very encouraging! **

**On a separate (slightly desperate!) note, I am still in need of a Beta. Even though I check my own writing multiple times before posting it, I know I'm missing things, and that bothers me. :) If you'd like to volunteer (Hint, hint! -_-) I'd be most appreciative. Please PM me if you're interested!**

**Okay, just one quick note about this chapter: I chose thirteen as the age that heirs of the Ancient families get their signet rings unless the previous heir has already relinquished it to them simply because Draco is seen wearing a ring (which I, as an almighty authoress am declaring the Malfoy signet ring!) beginning in The Prisoner of Azkaban (movie). So I thought I'd just use that for my purposes...**

**Anyway, this is the chapter that really starts everything off. It will be a quick progression from here.**

**WARNING:**** Mentions of abuse in this chapter. I don't think this really goes over a T rating, but of course it can still be rather disturbing. **

**xxSincerelySienna**

* * *

**All My Secrets**

Draco's eyes were drawn to him.

He had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to imagine how Harry lived, and how he acted with those he loved, yet what he saw puzzled him.

The Gryffindor did not strut. He did not have any sort of superiority complex. And he did not seem perturbed by the stories that the news and the tabloids were spinning in the least. In fact, he seemed to try remarkably hard to be _normal_.

In the mornings he stumbled downstairs bleary-eyed with Ron and the twins, still wearing his pajamas and with his hair seeming to take on a life of its own, shooting out from his head in a rather comical way as though he'd been struck by lightning or something.

Draco found himself smirking at the inadvertent pun, but he didn't say anything. He had learned quickly to keep his head down and his nose clean.

In the afternoons, Harry sought out his godfather and the two often disappeared into the library or the den, voices and laughter drifting out to bless the rest of the grim old house.

After dinner, Harry and his friends would converge in the living room to play chess, Exploding Snap, or some other game. The girls and the twins enjoyed mind games that twisted your thoughts and made you analyze everything. The end result of said games was often much giggling and often some sort of playful argument. Hermione usually tried to spark some in-depth discussion about their games, but the others would wave her off.

"It's just a game, Hermione," Ginny would laugh. "Not everything always has to have a deeper meaning, and if it does...well...you don't always have to look for it."

Draco was surprised that by simply listening to the conversations around him, he was learning more and more about the people he was being forced to reside with. Harry (Draco hated to admit) had a great sense of humor, though it was rather darker than he would've expected for the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Upon reflection, however, it made sense: There had to be some darkness in him, with all he had seen.

Hermione was not all rules and books. Surprisingly, she had little-to-no patience for almost any sort of strategy game. Her distaste for them had stemmed the twins' quest to find something for her to do with them that didn't involve anything heavy, dusty, and containing pages. Ginny had soon joined in, and the four had created a plethora of long-winded riddles and tongue twisters that forced you to think creatively.

Ginny had an odd sense of wisdom that was tainted by the horrors of her first year. Her words were carefully chosen, and her advice, though freely given, was worth taking a second look at, because if you did you would often find double meanings and a perceptiveness that was almost scary.

Draco was in no way used to being treated as he was at Grimmauld Place: Molly Weasley didn't seem to know quite what to make of him, so she simply smothered him in motherly love and her delicious home cooking as if it were a default for her to fall back on. (This, to Draco's amusement, never failed to rile the second-youngest redhead up, and he found it more funny than intimidating when he found himself on the receiving end of doting from the mother and loathing from the son.)

The rest of the Weasley kids tended to avoid him. He had noticed the girl, however, casting him appraising looks, as though she were attempting to decipher something particularly interesting involving him. In turn, Granger had been watching Ginny carefully, but she seemed utterly bemused by what she was seeing. Draco couldn't deny that he himself was. It certainly wasn't as if Ginny was _interested_ (the idea itself was repugnant to Draco), but she was clearly up to something. Although, it was quite funny to watch Granger become more and more frustrated as the days passed, seeming to come to the same vague conclusions as Draco had regarding Ginny's intentions. It also seemed to bother Hermione when that barmy Auror, Tonks (another mad cousin of Draco's), was over and immediately gravitated towards Ginny for a very giggly, very suspicious-looking conversation that certainly did nothing to quell Draco's fears about the whole situation.

And then there was Potter himself. He had barely glanced in Draco's direction in the three days that he and his mother had been at Grimmauld Place. The rivals had yet to speak a word to each other, and it appeared to almost concern Harry's friends that he and Draco weren't arguing. Keeping their interactions to a minimum wouldn't last long, though. They were bound to bump into each other at some point - there were only so many routes to the bathroom, and even fewer to the kitchen - and when they did, Draco had a feeling that the tension in the house would implode and the two of them would be at the center of it all.

* * *

"Focus, Harry," Narcissa admonished gently. Beneath her Pureblood Ice Queen facade was...well...a mother. One who loved her son, and couldn't help but allow the charming, jade-eyed orphan to wrap himself around her heart. "Your mind is scattered. You are worrying."

"Well, of course I'm bloody worrying!" Harry grumbled.

"Language, Harry, and you are not to talk back to me," Narcissa said, her words holding a stern bite that she used when drilling Harry in the rules of Wizarding etiquette, a subject that had come up quite by accident, and that Narcissa had found the boy lacking in.

"You know nothing of your ancestors!" she had sighed in the closest thing to despair Harry thought he'd ever seen from her. "You haven't a clue what is expected of you as the sole Potter heir, and...Oh, Heavens! What to do about your signet ring..."

Their discussion about the Potter ring had been put off long enough, and Narcissa was determined to do something about it that day.

"Sorry, Aunt Cissy," Harry said quickly, straightening up and looking her in the eye before lowering his gaze in a show of respect and regret.

Narcissa nodded approvingly and raised her wand. "Once more, and we shall rest. You have done well when you're focused, and that's a start, but it's not good enough. When you're in a battle, when you've woken from a nightmare, you're not going to be able to focus. You need to be able to put up your shields at a moment's notice."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and raised the Holly wand, dredging up the last of his energy and forcing up his newly-constructed shields.

"_Legilimens_!" Narcissa intoned, and Harry went rigid.

_Aunt Marge's dog was snapping at him as he scrambled up into the relative safety of the branches of a tree in the Dursleys' yard, and he was trembling with the effort to cling to the limbs of the Maple._

_His stomach gnawed with hunger and his face glazed with tears as he yelled at his uncle, "I didn't do it! I swear, Uncle Vernon, I didn't!", but it made no difference as Vernon's hand collided with his jaw._

_The door of his cupboard swung closed, shutting out the image of his uncle's red, furious face and alcohol-brightened eyes, and he retreated to the back corner, nursing bruises that trickled in obnoxious black and blue reminders that he was a "FREAK!" down his arms. The fingers of his right hand were swollen and he couldn't move them...and he was scared. He was scared._

"Stop, _stop_!" cried Narcissa shrilly. Harry stumbled back and collapsed onto the couch behind him. Narcissa was shaking slightly. Finally, she came and sat down next to him.

"Harry, what was that?" she asked. Her face was closed off but her eyes were fierce.

"I - it was - it was nothing, I was -"

"Harry James, I will not tolerate any sort of dishonesty," she hissed. "What was that?"

"They don't like magic," he whispered ashamedly, his hesitation even in the face of Narcissa's warning a testament to how concerned he was about his secrets being spilled.

"Clearly," Narcissa spat, her eyes darkened with rage. "Was that the worst of it?"

"Yes," Harry replied a little too quickly.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "_Harry _-"

"Please, Aunt Cissy," he murmured, gazing down at his lap. "Please don't make me tell it all now."

Narcissa softened. "I will get it out of you, Harry. Not all at once, though. I promise."

Harry nodded. "Alright," he choked out. "Alright."

"I think...I think that is enough for today," she said briskly, pulling herself together and patting Harry's hand absently. "Yes...we'll pick back up tomorrow afternoon. Please practice clearing your mind this evening. Remember, organizing your thoughts is not necessarily ideal for a novice Occlumens. That may only make it easier for a Legilimens to access information. Instead try the layering technique I explained in our first lesson. I believe it will work better for you," she concluded with a tight smile.

"Yes, Aunt Cissy," Harry mumbled.

"Look people in the eyes when you're talking to them," admonished the woman automatically.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I will find you in a few hours to discuss what we can be done about your signet ring," she added after a moment.

Narcissa took her leave, her emerald robes dancing across the floor as she turned on her heel and exited the room.

"Oh, Harry dear?" she called, sticking her head back in.

"Yes?" he asked softly, looking up.

"You know you're not alone, child. Do you think Lucius, in all his wickedness, never laid a finger on myself or Draco?"

Leaving the boy to ponder that, she went to help Molly with dinner. The two women got on surprisingly well while cooking.

* * *

The piano's playful notes had been turned into a mournful sound by his stuttering fingers that climbed the keys with minor hesitance. The mistakes he made went unnoticed in light of the sincere beauty of the music in the midst of which they were made.

Ginny knew immediately who was playing. The song, however, she did not recognize. Standing in the doorway of the drawing room, she listened quietly.

"..._Oh, got no reason, got no shame_

_Got no family I can blame_

_Just don't let me disappear_

_I'ma tell you everything_

_So tell me what you want to hear_

_Something that will light those ears_

_Sick of all the insincere_

_So I'm gonna give all my secrets away_

_This time, don't need another perfect lie_

_Don't care if critics ever jump in line_

_I'm gonna give all my secrets away_..."

Harry never saw her tears, his eyes clouded by his own, but it didn't matter, because now Ginny could pull together the pieces of one of the many mysteries of Harry Potter, and put them into perspective.

She backed out of the room and crept through the hall to the bedroom of Draco Malfoy.

Nobody was inside. She glanced around. The bed was made tidily and not much was out in the open. She pulled a quill and her songbook from her robes and tore a page of notebook paper from the little black ledger.

_'When one is hurting for many of the same reasons as yourself, what do you do?_

_When one's feelings are not hatred, but bitterness, when and where does one draw the line?_

_Think on it and undo the damage of the past four years.'_

The note was scripted carefully and placed on the creaseless pillowcase. Ginny pulled open the closet and glanced back at the slightly-ajar door. She pulled out her wand and contemplated it for a moment, before reasoning, _nobody would know...and it does more good than harm._

The blaring orange Cannons garments faded and were quickly replaced by the well-tailored, expensive robes that had hung there before the twins had implemented their brilliant plan a few days previously.

Sure, it was rather a waste of a fantastic prank, but if it helped Harry, she thought it wasn't too much of a sacrifice. Besides, it also meant getting one-up on her brothers, even if they didn't know who had reversed their spell.

* * *

After dinner, Narcissa beckoned Harry discreetly and led him to the Black family library.

"I've found something that could help you get your signet ring," she explained briskly, flicking her wand and Summoning a heavy, musty tome. The cover, Harry noted with raised eyebrows, was not leather but Dragonhide.

Narcissa motioned for Harry to take a seat at a small wooden table nearby and handed him the book, saying, "Page 578".

Looking mildly surprised, Harry brushed his fingers over the cover gently, and withdrew them to find them coated in dust. Wiping his hand on the thigh of his jeans, he lifted the sturdy cover and flipped through the pages gingerly, afraid that the ancient, brittle, yellowed parchment might disintegrate under his touch.

Nestled right in the middle of page 578 was a small on ancient families and their customs.

"_The heir of any of the Ancient Houses comes into possession of a ring baring his family's crest at the time that his father sees fit, or else it is relinquished by his father on the thirteenth anniversary of the heir's birth. If the previous heir is incapable of performing his duties, the eldest son (unless another heir has been declared, or there is not a male successor) is declared Head of House and given the signet ring to seal it. Though the successor is given the signet ring to seal the status as heir at age thirteen, they do not become Head of their House until their seventeenth birthday unless the previous heir is deceased or decrees otherwise..."_

Harry looked up from the passage he had just read.

"So this means that whoever was responsible for it should have gotten me my signet ring by my thirteenth birthday latest," he summarized. "Why hasn't it happened?"

"Harry, did you know that Albus Dumbledore has quite a lot of control over your possessions?" Narcissa asked seriously.

Harry frowned, reaching up to rub his eyes under his glasses with dusty fingers. "Then why hasn't he given it to me?"

"I do not know, Harry, but Dumbledore...Dumbledore is a man with a remarkable perception of the big picture. He has the rare ability to assess almost any situation and correctly hypothesize how it will affect the future. Yet he does not often think of how it will affect the people he is using as pawns and puppets."

Harry groaned softly. "I don't know what to do with this information, Aunt Cissy," he admitted quietly.

"You are to go to Dumbledore with it. You are to get him and your godfather alone, and you are to present it as it is. A direct confrontation is our only option at this point, Harry. You are to word your inquiry carefully, though. You are to say that you were doing some reading on the Ancient Houses as you had heard talk of them. Whatever you do say, I was not involved."

Harry nodded. "I understand," he said.

* * *

The door was open, and that was what caught his attention - he always closed the door. Draco allowed the ghost of a frown to crease his forehead and slipped into the room cautiously, thinking of the menacing red-haired time bombs that were the Weasley twins and their pranks.

Nothing seemed amiss, though. In fact, the closet door was propped open, and all his robes had been restored to their former glory. His confusion deepening, Draco spun on his heel and surveyed the room sharply. Finally noting further evidence of an intruder, he strode to his bed and plucked the note from the pillow.

Reading it cleared nothing up, save the knowledge that the handwriting was very feminine, yet also rather young-looking. That left Granger, the Weaselette, and perhaps the oddity Tonks.

Shaking his head, he read the note again. Who was it talking about and what were they playing at?

**Author's Note:**** Yeah, so, that's all for this one! The fourth chapter will probably take a bit longer, but I hope you enjoyed this. If you have any comments or suggestions, please feel free to share! That's what the review button is for. Innit pwetty? *Bats eyelashes* Yeah, so, um, review! **

**xxSincerelySienna**


	5. Old Wounds

**Disclaimer: I haven't miraculously acquired the rights to Harry Potter since the first chapter... :P**

**Author's Note (7/31/12): Yay! I get to make Harry and Draco try to kill each other with obvious sexual tension. Finally! :D There's also a considerable amount of Drarry in this chapter. (At least, compared to the other chapters...) Yeah, so, um...right. I don't really have much of importance to say except, a very happy birthday to J.K. Rowling (and Mr. Harry Potter himself! xD), and a happy (belated) birthday to Daniel Radcliffe.**

**Once again, thanks to all those who've reviewed.**

**Author's Note 2 (8/9/12): I now have a Beta, so any mistakes are HER fault. (A joke.) Anyway, thanks to A.J. Kelly for all her help.**

**Warning: Um, there is what some might perceive as "Dumbledore bashing" in this chapter, but it really is not meant to just be mean. He's not perfect, and I got rather annoyed with him while reading the books, but I don't hate him. He's not just going to be a manipulative bastard. Just thought I should mention it...**

**Right. Back to the story!**

**xxSincerelySienna**

* * *

**Old Wounds**

Draco pushed sweat-darkened platinum hair out of his eyes and kicked the worn cotton covers off of his overheated body. Still shaking slightly from the frighteningly tangible dream that had invaded his senses, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, desperate to be alone.

His room was still invaded with thick darkness, but Draco couldn't really bring himself to mind, even when he stumbled on his way to the door. Lighting a candle was simply too much trouble.

Pressing a hand firmly to the wall outside his door and allowing the peeling wallpaper to guide him, he managed to tiptoe downstairs without making too much racket. He noticed some late-night visitor had carelessly left the door to the basement kitchen open and candlelight cast a fickle, flickering glow against the cold stone of the walls.

Draco could see the outline of a person moving about with quick steps, tending to something on the stove. The heady aroma of cinnamon and chocolate choked him in the most pleasant way.

Unwilling to reveal himself, Draco flattened himself to the wall at the bottom of the stairs and peered around the doorframe. With a stifled inhale he realized that his unknowing company was Potter. Watching the boy when he thought no one else was around was strangely intimate, but Draco shoved the unwelcome thought unceremoniously from his mind, narrowing his swirling silver eyes as the other boy moved about the kitchen, standing on his toes to reach a heavy white mug in a cupboard over the stove, his back arching, his soft cotton tee riding up on his stomach to reveal a strip of skin to Draco, who suddenly found his mouth oddly dry. Harry's movements reminded him of a panther, smooth and light and with a predatory darkness that radiated appeal.

Harry turned off the stove with a _click _of the knob that startled Draco out of his strange, disturbing thoughts. Harry reached for the pot, pouring the hot chocolate into the mug and setting it on the table, steam curling from it with the same careless grace as the teen that had made it.

Sitting at the table, Harry cupped the mug in his hands, not seeming to mind the clearly-scalding temperature of the ceramic.

With a small sigh, he said, "Come on then...why are you hiding?"

Draco flinched in shame. A Slytherin caught by a Gryffindor? Had his musings really pulled him that far into his own mind?

Scowling, he stepped into the kitchen.

"I don't hide, Potter," he growled, spitting out the first thing that came to mind, as ridiculous as it was.

Harry seemed to think so too, as he glanced up for the first time, granting Draco a slight smile.

But then... "Okay," he said with a tired shrug.

Draco started. "What?"

"I said, okay. I'm too tired to argue, Draco, and there's no use waking the rest of the house with one of our spats at this hour. Can't we just ignore each other tonight? I'll have my cocoa, you'll do...whatever you came down here to do...and we'll verbally maim each other in the morning," offered the raven-haired teen.

Draco arched an eyebrow, the blond of it nearly invisible against his pale skin. "No."

"Sorry?"

"I said, no," he repeated, mocking Harry's earlier words. "I want to get this over with. I don't give a damn if you're too tired."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Harry sighed, looking mildly resigned, but more irked than anything.

Draco opened his mouth to snap at Harry, but found himself pondering the question and not knowing how to answer. _What are you doing here?_

What was he doing in the kitchen? He was...wandering. Because he didn't want to be in his nightmare-darkened bed.

What was he doing...here? In the house? In the midst of the Light? Under the Order's protection?

Draco swallowed and shook his head.

"It's none of your business, Potter," he growled.

Harry just gazed up at him with slitted eyes. The emeralds swirled with questions and doubts and frustration and a deep sadness that seemed embedded forever in his expression.

Finally, he seemed to settle on the frustration. "If you want to argue, give me something to bloody argue about, Malfoy!"

"Don't call me that," snarled Draco in sudden burst of fury. _Salt in a wound_, he told himself. That's what Potter was doing, even unknowingly.

"Oh, that's right," Harry said his voice a menacing calm. "You're not a Malfoy anymore. You lost that, didn't you? You know - you have no validity anymore. You have no standing. You may be a stuck-up, pureblood prick, but at least you can no longer strut around like you own everything in sight. Your high horse has been shot down, Draco, and you've gone with it."

Harry slammed his cup down, hot liquid sloshing over its rim and staining the table. The Gryffindor kicked his chair aside with a ferocity that seemed unreasonable even to him. He strode from the room without another glance at its other inhabitant.

Draco stood stiffly for a moment, something sharp and unwelcome clogging the back of his throat. Slowly, as Harry's footsteps faded upstairs, Draco righted the other boy's chair and sank down into it.

Nothing made sense anymore. None of his reactions, none of Potter's, none of his thoughts or his feelings...they were muddled and his head hurt even thinking about it.

Draco slouched down, buried his face in his hands, and waited for dawn to make the world right again.

* * *

Harry's temper carried him upstairs, but at the door to his room, he halted abruptly. He needed someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't just make him angry again, and someone who wouldn't mind being woken at whatever ungodly hour it was so that Harry could gripe to them. If he didn't talk, he was sure he'd explode.

Unwilling to become a mess of angst and innards in the middle of the hallway, Harry made a quick decision, chewing his lip in absent anxiety; he raised a hand and knocked on Sirius' door.

Inside there was the scrape of a chair and hurried footsteps, and the door was flung open to reveal a wide-eyed Sirius, looking about as though trying to find what was amiss.

"Harry," he greeted with a bewildered sort of smile when his eyes settled on his godson.

"Sorry," Harry blurted, now wondering what had possessed him to think that this was a good idea.

_Right. My imminent explosion into a mess of angst and blood._

"Sorry, I - I just need...needed to talk to you," he finished somewhat lamely.

Sirius, however, made no comment and stepped back to allow Harry to enter.

Sirius' bedroom was nothing less than Harry would've expected from the Marauder; the entire place was bedecked in red and gold banners, posters both wizard and Muggle taking up any wall space that wasn't plastered with pictures of his friends. Old movies, wizarding bands, motorbikes, and even a rather racy image of some Muggle girls wearing what must have been bikinis, but looked more like postage stamps to Harry. Their eyes were glazed and their expressions fixed forever in plastic smiles.

"What's bothering you, Harry?" Sirius inquired once they were both settled, Sirius in the desk chair that he had obviously been reclining in before Harry had knocked, and Harry sitting straight-backed and nervous on the edge of the king-sized bed.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but all he managed to do for a moment was gaze at Sirius with the saddest expression. Finally, he crumpled.

"I'm so confused, Padfoot," he sobbed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "I'm angry - _all the time_. These dreams I have - they're not normal. I'm so tired, but I can't sleep, and I can't do anything without hurting someone, and I can't even talk to Ron and Hermione because I'm afraid of what they'll say!"

Sirius shot up, startling Harry, who flinched as if he were expecting to be hit. A moment later, however, Harry felt the bed sink next to him and deemed it safe to open his eyes. Sirius held out his arms and he fell into them.

"Harry...Harry..."

"I'm broken, Sirius. It's all wrong, and I can't fix it, and I'm so scared..."

Sirius didn't even try to decipher the source of Harry's pain. He simply held the boy and cooed to him like he was comforting a child after a nightmare. And in a way, he was, except this nightmare never ended - not when Harry was awake, and not when he was asleep.

"Harry," Sirius ventured after a moment, "what don't you want to tell Ron and Hermione?"

Harry went rigid in his arms, and began disentangling himself.

"Please, Harry -"

"A few things, actually," Harry croaked, seeming rather ashamed of his outburst now that he was composed.

Sirius prodded him gently with a soft, "Hmm?"

Muttering something unintelligible, Harry looked up at his godfather from under his fringe, his eyes darkened with worry.

Sirius shook his head, and finally, Harry took a deep breath and, jumbling his words in his rush to spit them out, he said, "I'm gay."

Sirius sat patiently for a moment, feeling that there must be more. But when Harry remained still and silent, he said, "You're gay? That's...it?"

Frowning, Harry said, "Erm, mostly?"

"Mostly?"

"Look, can we just deal with this first," Harry requested impatiently.

Sirius shrugged. "Harry, I don't care, and they shouldn't either. Have you told anyone?"

"Not really. Ginny figured it out, though."

"And is she okay with it?"

Harry nodded.

"Knew there was a reason I liked that girl," Sirius muttered with a grin. Then said, "Harry, tell Ron and Hermione when you're ready, but they love you no matter what. This won't change anything."

Harry scowled slightly.

"Harry, what are you leaving out? Why are you so bothered by this?"

Harry's earlier Occlumency lesson swirled through his mind with horrifying vividnessand Harry seemed to retreat further into his shell.

"It's...nothing."

Sirius winced at the wall that Harry was erecting between them, but he knew that pushing the matter right now would only make it worse.

"We should both get some sleep." Sirius hesitated, a paternal instinct that had been long dormant kicking in as he watched his best mate's son looking so fragile, so vulnerable in the moonlight that streamed through the window like a waterfall. "Would you like to stay with me tonight?" he offered, and Harry, his eyes widening, nodded jerkily.

Tugging down the covers, Sirius gestured for Harry to climb into the bed. When they were snug against his chin, Sirius lay down on top of them and pulled the fifteen-year-old against his chest, tucking the unruly head of hair under his chin in a protective gesture.

Sirius' breathing evened out soon enough, but Harry lay awake with his eyes open and clouded with the darkness of his godfather's shirt.

Worries chased each other around in his mind, becoming more and more aggravating, like a dog chasing its tail. What would Ron and Hermione say? If he didn't tell them, would it do more damage in the long run than telling them would? What on earth did that encounter with Draco mean? Why did he feel weary at the thought of arguing with the blonde now? Where did that endless corridor that haunted his dreams lead...?

His uncle's voice echoed in his mind. _"Freak! You're a freak, boy! Your parents...good-for-nothing mother... Drunken father... Idiot child! Shouldn't be alive..."_

_Freak. Freak. Freak._

And his little discovery with Ginny the other day had done nothing to dissuade this notion that his relatives had so diligently planted in his mind.

* * *

The next day was eerily quiet. Molly seemed uneasy even bustling around the kitchen, Hermione had escaped into her little world of books, and even the twins seemed subdued.

Nobody spoke much, but the looming meeting of the Order - the first since the decision regarding Draco and Narcissa had been discussed - did nothing to ease the strained conversations and uneasy environment.

The Order trickled in amidst a broken symphony of mindless chatter and intense whispers. They all gravitated towards the kitchen, exchanging both cheery anecdotes and rolls of parchment no doubt containing crucial information and unfinished plans. By eleven in the morning, the door was sealed shut with a plethora of privacy spells.

Harry sat in the den room with Ginny, pouring over the book on the Ancient Houses that Narcissa had found for him. He didn't feel like participating in the futile attempts of the twins and Ron to find out what was going on - it would serve no purpose other than to frustrate him further. Hermione had closeted herself in the Black library to explore its labyrinth, and there was no coaxing her out of her own personal slice of heaven on earth. And so he trailed Ginny into their haven.

Ginny's gentle music was comforting, as was her simple, companionable presence, and neither said anything as the morning wore into afternoon.

There were seven Ancient Houses, Harry learned: The House of Black, the House of Potter, the House of Malfoy, the House of Longbottom, the House of Bones, the House of Prewett, and the House of Gaunt. Finding family trees on the following page, he studied them carefully, noticingthe familiar names of Neville Longbottom; Gideon, Fabian, and Molly Prewett; Susan Bones; Sirius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix Black; Lucius Malfoy; James Potter; and finally his own.

Draco's, he noticed, had been under Lucius', but an angry scorch mark had taken its place. He flipped to the last page of family trees - The Proud and Most Ancient House of Gaunt. Scanning the pagehe gave a startled little "Oh!" that made Ginny look up.

"Something wrong Harry?" she inquired, ceasing her playing to come and sit next to him.

"Look at this," he murmured, and handed her the book. She traced her finger down the page until she came to the name that had obviously been the cause of Harry's shock.

Under the name "Marvolo Gaunt" were two more - "Morfin Gaunt" and "Merope Gaunt". And at the very bottom of the page, beneath Merope's name, was "Tom Riddle".

Ginny gasped and pushed the book off her lap as though it was something vile.

"I'm sorry," Harry said immediately, feeling it had been rather insensitive of him to show her that.

"No, no," Ginny breathed. "I - I'm glad you showed me, it was just a bit of a shock."

"Ginny," he said quietly after a moment. "Does this mean Voldemort has a seat in the Wizengamot?"

Ginny shook her head vehemently. "No, no. They'll have closed it since he doesn't have an heir and...well...everyone believes him dead. Besides, even if he tried to claim it for some reason...well...it wouldn't be that easy."

Harry looked for a moment as though he was going to question her on it, but when he spoke he just said, "That's - that's good, I reckon."

They lapsed into silence again. Harry closed the book and placed it on the coffee table, leaning back to rest his head on the wall. He felt Ginny settle next to him and place her head on his shoulder, and for now the warmth of his sister was enough to chase away his worries and let him rest.

* * *

Draco fingered the piece of paper in his pocket. His room was laced with icy winter sun that placed a spotlight on the specks of dust floating lazily in its path.

Looking down at the note that had been bothering him all day, he read it again.

_'When one is hurting for many of the same reasons as yourself, what do you do?_

_When one's feelings are not hatred, but bitterness, when and where does one draw the line?_

_Think on it and undo the damage of the past four years.'_

Draco frowned, images flashing in his brain that he had previously stubbornly blocked out, preserving his preconceptions.

_A yellowing bruise adorned Potter's__ wrist in a clear imprint of large fingers as the first-year stood with his fists clenched to defend his new friend._

_A shockingly large man with the most off-putting snarl twisting his lips,__ grabbed a second-year Potter and roughly shoved him away from the barrier between platforms 9 and 10._

_The look of demur dread that dulled the bright green eyes of Draco's nemesis as he trotted after his relatives at the close of each school year..._

Draco had acknowledged in a resigned sort of way that the note had to be talking about Potter. But what in the name of Dumbledore's pet phoenix did the rest of it mean?

_'When one is hurting for many of the same reasons as yourself...'_

For what reasons was he suffering?

His father's choices. His mother's decisions _because _of his father's choices. His father, his father, his father. Whatever way he looked at it, he always landed back on his father.

His father's words, his father's views, his father's wand swishing down to inflict sharp jolts of pain that left no mark whenever Draco displeased him.

But how would they know? How would the writer of the note have discovered his father's abuse?

_'Undo the damage of the past four years.'_

Well, the previous night had certainly not worked towards any unraveling of years of animosity.

* * *

"Sirius, may I speak with you for a moment?"

The man in question glanced up from the papers he'd been studying with a furrowed brow to find his godson hovering in the doorway, weighed down by a book that would have looked far more natural had it been cradled in Hermione's arms.

Nodding, he sat at the now empty kitchen table. Harry sat across from him.

Seeming to struggle with words for a moment, Harry finally just flipped the book open to a marked page and pushed it towards Sirius.

Reading it, Sirius' stormy gray eyes darkened even more.

"I hadn't even thought about this," Sirius murmured, sounding pained. "I should have realized..."

And that was when Harry himself had a realization: To Sirius, James Potter wasn't dead. All those years in Azkaban had robbed him of opportunity to accept James' death, and now he just couldn't fully allow himself to recognize that the days of the Marauders had long passed. Instead of confront the pain, he secluded it somewhere in his mind which often resulted in his absentmindedness in the present. It was like he was trying to deal with it, but he didn't know how.

Harry stood abruptly and crossed to Sirius' side of the table and wrapped the older man in a fierce embrace.

"We don't have to do this yet," Harry murmured. A lie. He knew that every day he spent without his signet ring was a day wasted, and a day on his conscience. Rejecting his family name was something he could do no longer, now that he knew what that absence of that small, seemingly inconsequential piece of jewelry actually meant.

"Yes, we do," Sirius objected quickly and with a harsh inhale. "Why hasn't Dumbledore taken care of this? Or even Remus? It isn't right..."

With intense relief, Harry realized that he now had Sirius on his side. He also realized that Sirius was still talking.

"...speak to Dumbledore before he leaves." He looked at Harry for confirmation, and Harry could only nod - for once, the situation had played right into his hands.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had never been confronted by such an odd, determined-looking pair.

He sat calmly, with a gentle, faint smile fixed upon his face that irritated Harry boyond belief. He was beginning to look his years.

"What warrants such agitation, my boys?" inquired the old man mildly, forming a steeple with his hands, thumbs under his chin and fingers brushing his long, crooked nose.

Harry fussed a little, avoiding his eyes and running a finger over the fragile binding of the book that rested open across his knees.

"It's - it's just something I found... I asked Sirius, and he said you might...might have some information..."

Harry's weak explanation trailed off rather lamely, so he offered the book to Dumbledore, his finger marking the important text.

Dumbledore read, and as he did, to Harry's satisfaction, the fixed smile wilted.

"Ah," he sighed darkly into his beard. "I see."

"Albus, you had the most control over the Potter's assets. Why did you keep it from him? Why didn't you just tell him?"

Albus was a man with a brilliant mind. He was bright, he was quick, and he probably should have been in Slytherin. At least, that's what the Sorting Hat told him on a weekly basis. But he had made his share of foolish mistakes, and one of them seemed to be returning to bite him in a certain unmentionable part of his anatomy.

Composing himself and searching his options for the most appealing (least likely to backfire) one, he said (and not at all dishonestly), "Sirius, I'm sure you know what being Head of family entails?"

When Sirius nodded curtly, Albus continued. "Then I'm sure you realize what it would mean for Harry to accept his signet ring - it would mean accepting his seat in the Wizengamot (of course, with his legal magical guardian to supervise him until he is of age, but I digress), and it would mean a burst of extra and unwanted publicity. Harry, I understand that perhaps I did not go about this quite as I should have, but _you _must understand - I care about you deeply. To wear your signet ring would also be to wear that responsibility. Is that really what you want or need right now?"

Harry thought about it, he really did. In a way, his Headmaster's words made sense. In another, stronger way, they made him angry.

"What gives you the right to dictate my life?" he inquired. It was not impudence, but an honest question.

"I do not wish to dictate your life, Harry -" Dumbledore began, seeming alarmed.

"-But that's what you've been doing," Harry stated. "You shouldn't have kept my signet ring from me! I had to find out through some old book in Sirius' library that I've been denouncing my family name? Then I find out that you have major control over my inheritance? Bloody hell! Why don't I just get it all out? You say I'm safe at the Dursley's - you say I have to go back. Why? Would you even care if I told you what goes on in that house? Do you care about me, or do you care about your precious savior? _Am_ I just your golden boy pawn? _Why do I have to do as you say_?!"

By the time Harry had finished his rant, Sirius was sitting back looking mildly impressed, but also rather cold and angry - he wanted to hear Albus' excuses. They just got better and better every time.

Dumbledore had gone rigid. For once, he did not know what to do. He did care about Harry - very much so. In fact, perhaps too much. It had led him to make rash, foolish decisions;one of which he was about to reveal.

"Harry, this may come as a surprise to you, but I care for you deeply. That is why I made the decisions that I did regarding your safety. I made an impulsive choice, one that was, perhaps, not very wise. Somehow, I do not regret it. I only regret how it affected my other decisions, and in turn, how certain events have played out up until now.

"Fourteen years ago, I was named your legal magical guardian up until the time that it is possible for Sirius to take care of you."

* * *

**Author's Note: Yeah, I know - it ends on rather an "I am your father!" note, but a lot happened in this chapter and I didn't want to draw it out any more. Besides, I figured it was about time you guys got an update. :)**

**The next chapter is planned out and I'll begin writing it ASAP. Quite a few things will be explained in that one and we'll check in with quite a few people, some of whom we haven't seen much of yet.**

**'Til next time!**


	6. The Longest Day

**Disclaimer:**** Consider it disclaimed.**

**Author's Note:**** Hey guys! Yeah...that took a while. :) Sorry for the wait, but school has started up again and I've been ridiculously busy. **

**There are a couple of scenes in this that I've been looking forward to writing. Not a whole lot of things **_**happen**_** in this chapter, but it feels very important to the story somehow. **

**To be honest, I don't know why I chose to do this story this way. I usually don't enjoy when an author uses Third Person Omniscient or constantly switches POVs, but I really felt that it was the only way I could write this story. I hope it's not bothering anyone. In this chapter, there will be a lot of switches. Quite a few characters are going to get the spotlight here, and I really wanted to display their thoughts, thought processes, and their characterizations. I hope I was able to pull it off so that it isn't just annoying.**

**Unfortunately, my Beta is having some issues with her computer, so this chapter is unbetaed. I hope it's okay anyway. :)**

**xxSincerelySienna**

* * *

**The Longest Day**

The heavy, patchwork quilt on the bed sighed as Harry threw himself onto it. The sound was almost exasperated.

Burying his face in his pillow, Harry preferred not to think about anything - most especially not the book he had dropped heavily on the antique desk against the wall of the room that he shared with Ron.

It had honestly never occurred to him that he might have a magical guardian other than Sirius. He had always assumed that the Dursleys were it, and his vault at Gringotts had been frozen until he claimed it.

How had he never wondered how Hagrid had gotten his vault key? How had he never wondered why he felt so compelled to obey Dumbledore when he had a fortune at his disposal and could, presumably, rent a room at the Leaky, or even just get himself to the Weasleys?

Berating himself mentally for never having tried to find out more about his own situation - his own standing in the world he had claimed to be a part of for years - Harry pushed himself up reluctantly and rubbed his eyes. Clearly, some things needed to change.

Wondering idly whether Dumbledore really was the best person to have as a guardian, he trudged to the desk and flipped open the text, paging through the thing, reading the words but not really processing them. He felt drained. He just wanted Sirius to be free, so that things could be somewhat simple for once.

Bent over the book, he made a list of things he needed to do in his mind:

_Read "The Ancient Houses" from cover to cover._

_Talk to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny._

_Talk to Sirius._

_Talk to (no matter how much he didn't want to) Dumbledore._

_Redouble his efforts with both Occlumency and his planning for the D.A._

He would start there, he decided firmly, and see how things went.

With a groan, he heaved the book into his arms and stumbled to the bed, sitting cross-legged in the nest of messy sheets that he'd left unmade that morning.

As he lifted the cover, he added one last thing to his mental list:

_Grow a pair and write that damn letter to Cho!_

* * *

Hermione Granger was a highly rational person. Her brain worked differently from many of her friends, with logic overriding most anything else. She figured, reluctantly, that she would not be very good at Occlumency. Her mind was simply too organized - everything had its place, and she most certainly did _not_ wish to disrupt that.

She liked puzzles - she always had. When she was younger, she would spend endless hours on the floor of the den with her father, piecing together jigsaws that became progressively bigger and more difficult as she mastered 100-pieces, 200-pieces, 500-pieces, 1,000-pieces... Her dad would buy her a new one every year for Christmas, and it had become a tradition.

This year, her Christmas puzzle was Harry Potter.

Her best friend's behavior was concerning her. His reaction to Draco's presence was not what she would have thought. There was no overpowering emotion - no indignation, no explosive anger, just a weary sadness that frightened her beyond any temper Harry could ever unleash. Harry, her strong constant, was slipping into something scarily like depression.

He wouldn't talk to her and Ron. It was as though every time they got close to answers, he clammed up and directed them away from what they wanted to know.

She couldn't help but wonder why. What secret could possibly be eating him? What was so bad that he couldn't even tell his best friends?

As far as Hermione could tell, there wasn't much left that she could do. She would be there, she would love him unconditionally as she always had, and she would wait for him to open up.

* * *

Ron Weasley was not particularly fond of deep thinking. It made his head hurt, and he found himself secondguessing everything. No, he liked his world just as it was. Perhaps nothing was _simple_, persay, but at least he knew where he stood, and he knew where everyone else stood, and for the most part, things were black and white.

He really didn't like gray.

The war that had started the previous year was creeping up on them all, and Ron found that there was a nagging sense of unease ever-present in his mind. Soon everything would go to hell and he'd trail along clinging to the pieces of his life. He knew it, and he didn't like it.

Harry's silent refusal to confide in him was also an issue, and it fed old insecurities that had been untouched for quite a while. What had he done wrong, that Harry chose to tell Ginny his secrets and develop a reluctance to talk to his two best friends?

Never once did he consider that Harry's insecurities were greater than his.

* * *

A cold, strategic web of deception and cunning had so intricately comprised Narcissa Black's world for longer than she could recall. It had become less of a habit and more of a survival instinct to keep her true thoughts and motives to herself.

Entering the so-called "Light" side had been an act of desperation. It provided protection and a means to live. There had been no dramatic change of heart or beliefs. Light and Dark were extremes. Good and Evil. Wrong and Right. It was all supposed to be black and white, wasn't it? Perhaps there were such things, but all Narcissa could see was varying shades of gray.

It had always been that way. She had grown up in a household where everyone was told what to think and punished if they questioned it. She had quickly taught herself the "right" way of thinking, speaking, and being, and hidden her questions with the cold mask of a pureblood princess. Inevitably, it was soon followed by the cold mask of a cold blooded Death Eater.

And finally, the mask had cracked as her son had struggled to uphold the views of his father in a pointless battle he couldn't win. The mask had cracked and she had run, and now here she sat with the symbol of the Light, their hero, teaching him and learning from him in equal measure, allowing him to take up residence in that organ she had so long ignored, allowing it to be warmed only by Draco.

Learning that Harry Potter had been subject to such cruelty at the hands of his own flesh and blood had been a rather morbid irony. The "Prince Potter" that Draco had so often mocked through sneering lips didn't exist after all. In his place was a lost boy with too much pain, too many secrets, and more responsibility than even he knew.

Harry's trials were not unlike Draco's, Narcissa pondered when she was tempted to simply purse her lips and condemn all Muggles. Wizards weren't gods either. They committed such crimes, such sins as well. That did not make it right, nor did it make them better.

So where did she stand? She stood with her son. For now, that was enough.

* * *

The note Draco held delicately had become smudged, wrinkled, and rather grubby. Its words were still legible, but its meaning had become foggier and foggier each time he read it. Sure, he knew what it was telling him to do, but he still hadn't a clue who had sent it, why they had sent it, how they knew, and why they cared so much.

He didn't even know why _he _cared so much, for that matter.

Perhaps, he reasoned, he should simply forget about it. It wasn't as if he wanted Potter's friendship, after all. He simply wanted answers.

Yes, that was it. Answers.

* * *

Frost crystallized on the window pane in the thinnest layers, turning everything outside a mass of blurry gray. Ginny scraped a circle off with her fingernail, remembering what she used to do to the frost on her window. A lopsided heart with the initials of herself and the boy she adored etched inside of it swam in her vision, but she scrubbed it away as quickly as she had the real thing before her brothers could enter the room and tease her about it.

Groaning softly, she rubbed her cold, wet fingers against her eyelids and pressed her forehead to the window. Of course, she'd be the one to do that - to fall in love with the perfect man, the one who would suit her best, but also the one who would never be able to view her as anything more than a sister.

She had known for a while now, that he was gay. Perhaps even since her second year. But she had pushed it away, praying she was wrong, praying for him to love her as she loved him.

But she was only Harry's sister, and if that was the best he could offer, she would take it and guide him to his own happiness.

One last time, she traced her heart into the frost. She had never scratched it out so viciously.

_Dear Cho,_

_I'm ever so sorry for putting this in a letter, but I'm a coward and I wouldn't be able to say it to your lovely face._

_I've managed to place myself in an utterly abysmal position. You see, Cho, something felt wrong when I kissed you. I figured that out after much wandering these past few days. Cho, I love you, I truly do. You're a beautiful girl and a fantastic friend. I hope we can remain friends, but I can't continue allow the beginnings of a romantic relationship to grow. I'd never forgive myself if I did that to you._

_You see, Cho, I'm gay. Only two other people know this, and they're (surprisingly) _not_ Ron and Hermione. I can't even begin to express how sorry I am for this mess I've made, and I hope you can forgive me and find it in you to keep my secret for now._

_Regards,_

_Harry Potter_

_P.S. Would you like to go to a Hogsmeade weekend sometime? To talk, as friends?_

Cho lowered the carefully-composed letter slowly and rubbed her fingers over the parchment. Shaking her head, she allowed a sad, small smile to creep onto her face. She must have the worst luck in the world with romance. Her first boyfriend died by the wand of a maniacal, merciless Dark wizard hell-bent on pureblood domination and her second confessed his sexual preference in a letter that really made it nearly impossible to be angry with him.

Perhaps it was for the best. She knew she'd made a mess of their relationship from the start. After all, crying over the dead ex-boyfriend whilst kissing the new (gay!) one wasn't exactly the best way to start off.

Even so, she couldn't quite keep the sadness at bay. Harry truly was a lovely person.

"All the best, Harry Potter," she whispered to her empty bedroom, and set about composing her reply.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Hey there! So, that's all for this one, and I know it's not much for something that took so darn long, but I hope you'll bear with me. **


	7. Prerogatives and Pretense

**Disclaimer: Well, it's been months and I still don't own it, so I think we can assume that the answer is "Never. Like, ever. Don't even get your hopes up past maybe."**

**Author's Note: *crawls out from under rock* Uh...hiiii guys... So, I really do have a good explanation. I swear I do. Honest. Basically I got super busy with school and family and friends and I then proceeded to completely blank on my password for both the email I'm using for this site, and the one for my account. I had pretty much no way to recover it, so I just kind of gave up on it for a while, but amazingly I figured it out a bit ago, and I'M BACK. Where's my honor guard? ...Oh, right. I'm still just a random girl who isn't as awesome as she'd like to think. Right. Sorry.**

**Thanks to my Beta, A.J. Kelly, for agreeing to pick back up with this fic and generally making it less painful to read. :)**

**Soooo...Chapter Six, anyone? This is mostly Draco's POV.**

**xxSincerelySienna**

* * *

**Prerogatives and Pretense**

Draco had always known he was gay. It wasn't a big deal to him;it was simply something to work around. Being the Malfoy heir was a position that came with more downsides than perks, but Draco had been willing to sacrifice his desires for the sake of image. Image was what held his world together, and his readiness to forfeit anything for it was one of the many things that being a Malfoy had ingrained in him.

He wasn't so sure of that anymore.

He had a decision to make: He could continue on the supposedly simple path his father had set him on since before he was old enough to understand the connotations of the term "Dark", or he could do what that slow-to-awaken, half-conscious part of him wanted to do and rebel.

Strange, how rebelling could somehow become the "right" thing to do.

There wasn't a necessary prejudice against queer witches and wizards...it was more of a status thing. If you were bent and of high pureblood status, you would still marry as though straight, but it was an unspoken prerogative that you could end up with a lover on the side. Draco could deal with this, and he had never expected anything more. Now…he could do whatever the bloody fuck he wanted.

And he was going to start with that note.

Thinking about changing one's life is much simpler than the actual act of changing one's life. Mostly because there is no one 'act' that will change your life – it is more a series of decisions beginning with a new mindset. To achieve said mindset, though, you must scuff out the old pathways your brain has made for you and stomp in new ones.

_I am allowed to interact with these people._

_I am allowed to…be kind to these people?_

_Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves, Draco._

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste at his own thoughts as he tapped his knuckles in a light, kinetic rhythm against his knee. Not responding with utter scorn to someone was not the same as liking them, or, heaven forbid, _associating himself_ with them. …And there it was again. The same sort of appearance-driven attitude that the Blacks and the Malfoys and…well…most purebloods had infused in every thought they had. Draco plunged a hand into the pocket of his robes and brushed the crumpled note with his fingers.

* * *

_"Psst! Potter!"_

_Green eyes turned on Draco beneath the annoyed crinkle of the other boy's brow. Harry pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows as if to wonder why Draco was addressing him with a gleeful smirk._

_Draco preferred not to dwell on the fact that he knew his eyes were alight for the first time in a while and he could feel the itching burn of his cheeks coloring._

_Shaking off his thoughts, Draco unfurled the light fist he'd made around the piece of Origami and blew a light puff of air under its wings. Magic and momentum carried it in a low swoop to land in Harry's cupped palms._

_The Gryffindor unfolded it, eyes darkening as he took in the rough drawing._

_Draco couldn't ignore the fact that, at the end of class, Harry re-folded the bird and slipped it into his pocket._

* * *

Initiating conversation with someone who thinks you hate their very existence is just as difficult as it sounds. Ginny Weasley proved pretty helpful in that respect.

Draco had planted himself determinedly in an armchair in the drawing room with a book that he wasn't actually paying attention to. Harry, the twin disasters, and Ginny were playing one of their games again, in a circle on the floor at the hearth. From what Draco gathered, the game was comprised of one question and as many wild imaginations as there were players. "Coward or Smart" required the ask-er to invent a complex hypothetical situation and force the ask-ee to respond with whether walking away from the hypothetical situation would be an act of pusillanimity.

Draco wondered if all Gryffindors were so brash. Perhaps it was just this group - perhaps the stupidly brave ones gravitated towards each other. But wouldn't that mean competition over who had the biggest hero complex?

The Slytherin pulled himself from his amused inner monologue as Ginny stood abruptly.

"Well, I've got to discuss something with Tonks before bed. Hey, Fred, George, a quick word?"

Ginny tossed Draco a wink back over her shoulder, flipping her long copper hair and grinning at a disgruntled looking Harry as she pranced out of the room.

The twins followed, their gazes traveling between their sister and the other two boys in the room with a glint of alarming knowing that Draco hoped he was imagining. Hours of tense silence dragged through a moment as something in the sharp set of Draco's face prevented a fidgeting Harry from leaping up and bidding his nemesis a hasty, mumbled 'goodnight'.

"She looks far too pleased with herself," Draco commented casually as he went to join Harry, casting a grimace at the floor but settling himself down with an air of superior delicateness that made Harry roll his eyes and scowl.

"Can't imagine why," Harry shot back tensely, but the lip caught between his teeth and the flush in his cheeks said otherwise.

"Couldn't you?"

God, he loved riling Harry up. Loved watching his eyes crackle with electricity, his hackles rise and the blood rise to paint his cheekbones. It was addictive to have that sort of power over someone, and it was just as heady to know that he responded the same way to Harry's provoking.

"What do you want?" Harry practically growled; Draco shivered, but contained himself.

"I found this on my pillow a bit ago," Draco said after a pause, retrieving the note from his pocket with a slight, habitual flourish.

Harry accepted it with a skeptical look in Draco's direction, but as the brunette took in the words, it was replaced with a mixture of fondness and aggravation.

"Ginny is one for drama and cryptic messages," he commented with a wry grin, handing the paper back to Draco.

Draco was unsure how to respond, so he said nothing.

"Well - now I know she's scheming. Still dunno why you showed it to me," Harry commented with an air of put-on nonchalance, proved fake by the way his features tightened; the tension between the two thickened.

"Because I didn't know how the bloody hell else to start this conversation!" Draco burst out. Harry just seemed to seep into his veins, bubble under his skin until something had to give. This time, it was his filter. "Because I've wanted to do this -" he brandished the note "- for years, and you're just _there_, unmovable and stubborn and so fucking _appealing_ and all I want is to know what makes you _tick_ and I never could find out because my goddamned _father_ and all his bloody ultimatums for being a Malfoy, and now it doesn't matter anymore because I've already lost everything - my dignity might as well go now, it will once we're back at school - and you're _still just here_ and Merlin, Potter, you piss me the fuck off!"

Harry balked at Draco's speech, leaning back and gaping slightly as the firelight painted shadows into his features.

The damn was broken, and Draco couldn't seem to stop. "I don't know why, Harry, but I just want to know you. I don't give a damn about the Boy Who Lived, but I might give half a damn about Harry Potter. Okay?"

Harry said nothing, and both boys seemed out of breath.

"Okay," Harry said softly after a moment.

"O- What?"

"Okay. I can - I can do that. We can do that."

Neither said much else that night. They sat for another hour, numb with the information that they were both still processing, before Draco shook himself and went to bed with a meek, "See you".

Harry stayed up far longer, stretched out on the sofa and staring at the fire and letting his thoughts bleed together until only the embers glowed and a gray morning began to appear in the window.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**xxSincerelySienna  
**


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